


Deadlock

by afearfulbride



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Decapitation, Junkenstein AU, M/M, Mild Guro, Oral Sex, jesse don't fuck headless horsemen, throatfucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 13:34:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12632100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afearfulbride/pseuds/afearfulbride
Summary: After a years-long hunt The Gunslinger finally brings The Reaper to his knees, only to find that one cannot kill what is theoretically already dead. He does the only sensible thing and fucks him instead. Based on a prompt from robotfvcker's Halloween strawpoll.





	Deadlock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [robotfvckers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotfvckers/gifts).



Beneath a grinning yellow skull of a moon, hoarfrost glittering like thousands of mirror shards hidden amongst the grass, the Reaper loosed a guttural hiss and fell to his knees in abject defeat. His shotguns fell at his side, _thunk thump_ , and dissolved into in clouds of acrid black smoke. Bulbous and lurid in the night air, his head lolled back, and for a moment his mouth almost seemed to stretch that little bit wider.

“Didn’t think you had it in you, runt.”

Jesse McCree- gunslinger, hunter, panting and sweating like a sinner in church- raised one foot and kicked it clean off of the Reaper’s shoulders, and let it roll into a stump.

“I grew,” he shot back. “Seems to me you taught me just a little _too_ well.”

The Reaper’s shoulders slumped. Silent now, brow furrowing as if to dam the veritable flood of thoughts and feelings he knew would come surging through his head before the night was out, he passed one hand up and down, right to left across his shoulders, and turned to face the cold judgement of the stars.

It was the silence that stopped him before he even took a single step. He didn’t even have to look back to know how very wrong he had been.

“So this is how it’s gonna be, huh?” Even to his own ears he sounded gruff and tired, and just a little exasperated. After a moment’s thought, he holstered his pistol. “I should’ve figured you wouldn’t go down easy.”

It did not surprise Jesse in the slightest when, quietly at first, razed and rattling like the wind in the trees above them, he heard a response in the form of a laugh. Then he began to speak:

“ _Faithful shadow, cold of heart,_  
_Ever hunting, know thy art:_  
_In vengeance shall you deathless fight_  
_Beneath the silent eyes of night._ " 

A shiver broke, unbidden, down McCree’s spine; there was something in the man’s cadence, low and elegiac, so unlike anything he had ever heard in his old master’s voice. They were not his words. Not a chance.

“So you can’t die,” he commented eventually, without a great deal of the sympathy that threatened to creep up his throat. “Sounds like a sick joke.”

What surprised him most was how much of a relief it was to hear the Reaper laugh. “You don’t know the half of it,” the Reaper said.

McCree kicked listlessly at a clod of grass and mud. “Guess that leaves us at an impasse, huh?” he sighed. Paused. “... I missed you. We all did.”

“Spare me the obituary, hunter.” Scorn twisted the wraith’s words, red-hot in the cool of the night- but there was something else there, too. Pain, expertly disguised by contempt. “I don’t need your grief.”

Maybe that was what tipped him over the edge, that aching familiarity, the ridiculous drama of it, and the way the Reaper wore it like a shroud: in the lilt of his voice Jesse saw dark eyes, felt a rough beard and rougher hands on his skin, adjusting his aim, holding him together as if he might break apart without them. The cracks in the wall split wider. His heart clenched into a fist of grief and rage and guilt and, yeah, maybe even love.

What he wanted to do was get angry.

He did not get angry.

“Maybe you’re right,” Jesse said, after a beat. “Maybe I’m hunting ghosts. But,” less cautious now he touched a hand to the Reaper’s shoulder, and finding that it did not budge, continued, “it don’t seem right to just leave you here, let you get off scot-free. You _did_ get me pretty worked up back there.”

Only one man could ever have made a pumpkin of all things look as sardonic as, unaccountably, the head before him did. “I tried to kill you.”

“Right. You’ll probably try to do it again, too. But I heard a guy once say that love and hate’re two sides of the same coin,” Jesse answered, tipping the brim of his hat back in a gesture he knew, inevitably, would be infuriating. “Life and death. Sex and violence.”

“You don’t have the guts,” the Reaper sneered, with all the intonation of a curled lip. “Never did, never will.”

Jesse’s chest swelled. Because of _course_ it did, damn his pride.

“Is that a challenge, pumpkin?” Was it? The hunter considered his options. True, he wasn’t about to strip off the Reaper’s body and fuck it over a log, but… but somehow, _somehow_ he found his hand drawing up to cup the curious dark flesh of his throat. The break was inhumanly clean, as if he were a doll rather than a living creature. Or unliving. It was unclear. And in its core... “If you ask me, you still got plenty of perfectly good holes to fill up.”

Jesse had never talked a shy or pretty talk when it came to sex. Yet hearing the words in his own voice now, knowing to whom they were spoken- his own capacity for crudeness, it lit a fire in his belly that left him _wanting_ , and only too eager to sate that want.

There was a silence.

“You’re disgusting,” the Reaper said flatly, finally.

But the glow of his head had flickered at just the wrong moment. Jesse gave a swooping whistle, high to low, and placed one gloved hand confidently onto the body’s shoulders. “And you’re not fooling anyone, Gabriel.” 

_That_ shut him up, as much the sound of his name as the honesty of what he had to say. After all, the Reaper’s body was already letting itself be coaxed into position, its neck tilting forward entirely of its own accord; beneath his spine the wet, blackish hole of the Reaper’s throat winked up at him, glistening, smaller than he’d imagined a human throat would be. Wasn’t like he’d never decapitated a son of a bitch in his time, but he’d always been more preoccupied with the head than the neck- god only knew, he’d been bitten and sassed by enough of _those_.

Fortunately, most pumpkins didn’t come equipped with teeth. All the Reaper could manage was a surly little grumble as Jesse clinked and clanked himself free of his belt, took his cock in one fist and aligned it with the open mouth of throat with which he had not-so-graciously be provided. And there was a moment then in which, yeah, he could easily have changed his mind. Weren’t natural, for one thing. He’d always been taught not to put his dick in beings born of unthinkable arcane magicks.

But then, considering just who was it who’d taught him that in the first place? Now seemed as good a time as any to make an exception.

Settling his grip tightly about the Reaper’s neck he nudged the glans into the waiting hole-

And, from the ground, the wraith actually _choked_. God _damn_.

Really, though, Jesse couldn’t blame him, not with the sharp breath he sucked himself in as the first inch sank in with an audible _slurp_ ; the very last thing he expected was for it to be warm. As holes went this one was impossibly soft and yielding, made to swallow him in and hug him tight and kissing beneath his glans in a way that had him weak at the knees already.

“Jesus, Gabe!” he hissed, grabbing ahold of his hat to keep it from slipping into his eyes. “You been waiting for this or something?”

Little by little, swallowing down the pressure already rising in his gut, he urged himself on until he bottomed out in the Reaper’s neck and deep into his body; his throat bulged obscenely around the intrusion but made no attempt to expel the blockage, giving Jesse’s dick a chance to get nice and comfortable in its snug new sheath.

Somehow, impressing even himself, Jesse managed to laugh. Needless to say the Reaper was not quite so enthusiastic. The molten embers of his eyes flared, though whether with fury or hunger he could not determine.

“You’re a sick son-of-a-bitch,” he growled, and with the sound came the softest of vibrations through the cloying tunnel of his throat- just enough to send the aftershocks thrumming into his cock as it swallowed uselessly around its fat bulk, and with it a wave of sensation that almost knocked him off his feet. 

Jesse groaned, deep and loud and shameless. “Learned it from the best.”

With the strange warmth of the Reaper’s body damn near nestling into his balls, he finally found the presence of mind to move: slowly at first, feeling out a rhythm with an idle rock of his hips to let his abomination of a partner find his pace and meet it.

Really, he needn’t have bothered to be polite. After a moment or two it sank almost helplessly into his hips, shoulders sagging with what Jesse could only interpret as relief. More than that, the moment he threatened to withdraw completely the Reaper’s he felt a pair of hard, clawed hands scrabble to his waist and _grip_ \- and within seconds he was plunged back hard into a silky, suckling clutch of throat- and again, and again.

To Jesse’s credit he did not swallow his own tongue. Somewhere between the heat and the pleasure and the pressure climbing his stomach, he found he was barking out a laugh. A headless horseman was fucking itself on his dick. 

Incredible.

“If you ask me, you’re liking this just fine, Gabe,” he offered, with a lopsided, if breathless, grin- even if it took him a moment to redirect it at the pumpkin rather than the sightless body before him. No mean feat considering how hungry it was for his attention, clawing frantically at his belts as if even a second of his attention split was a second stolen from its own life.

Or unlife. Still unclear.

“You traitor!” snarled the Reaper, and Jesse didn’t have to check to know just where that ire had been directed; he saw as viscerally as he felt the shrug of the body’s shoulders through his cock in what he supposed had to have been a mute and rather insincere apology. “Just you wait until I get my-”

Whatever ending the Reaper had planned for that particular threat abruptly vanished into a heartfelt moan as, out of the corner of his eye, Jesse spotted one gloved hand creep amongst the tangle of leather and metal beneath his legs to detach that intriguing codpiece of his. Within moments it had filled itself with thick, dark cock, ruddy at the tip and winking with what Jesse realised only belatedly was a ruby-red piercing. Well, fuck.

 _Hands on yourself?_ , he wanted to finish. But that would require air, and every last drop of _that_ was being rapidly consumed by the ragged pull of his lungs, barely enough to keep him from getting light-headed. Probably be a wasted effort, anyway, since he doubted the Reaper would even hear him over the sound of his increasingly harried grunting, or the steady slap of skin on skin. 

Truth was, if the Reaper was too far gone, Jesse knew he’d long since raced into the distance ahead of him. _To hell and back_ , he’d promised, all those years ago. Now, as climax licked its way up his spine, he could almost have promised it all over again. He wanted to kneel before the Reaper, offer himself up, maybe lick his way around the leather of his gloves so he could suck the spend from that enticing gem. All while those burning eyes watched with a heady cocktail of contempt and hunger, speaking in that death-bitten growl that reminded him so viscerally of all the things they’d lost in each other.

Oh, yeah. He’d lost it big time.

Little wonder that, as the pace of their fucking grew frantic, as the movement just beneath Jesse’s periphery drew tight and sharp with crisis, the Reaper _gasped_ \- and painted wet heat in salt and chestnut flowers and brimstone across his thigh.

Some vague, primal impulse in him shone with greedy pride. That made two to zero. But the revelation, as much as he wanted to gloat, held out for only the briefest of moments before it was crushed out of his thoughts by a climax so sharp and so intense he thought might blow the top of his skull out. Count on Gabe to make it rough, so good it hurt, drove him to a litany of confused curses that fought their way from his lips like a pack of unruly wolves. Before his knees could so much as tremble he poured himself down the Reaper’s throat until cum frothed back up around his dick- until the pumpkin head choked and spluttered and drew shaking breaths around what felt like every last drop he had to offer.

Only then, at long last, did Jesse loosen his stranglehold on the very last vestiges of strength left within him and fold to the grass before him. Slowly, the way one fell in a dream. Come morning he knew the wraith would be gone. But until then? 

Until then, time was just about the one thing they could still kill together.


End file.
